


Stepping Out

by NotaCricket



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, I need a humour transplant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotaCricket/pseuds/NotaCricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So most stories start with a beginning and finish with an ending.  Here we start with "The" beginning and finish with another one.  In other words, how Crowley stumbled upon "The Fall".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stepping Out

**Author's Note:**

> The website used to reference angel names has been forgotten and lost (or maybe the other way around) but I figure names, like roses, are more trouble than they're worth so feel free to ignore any background meaning.
> 
> Footnotes are at the end.

In the beginning there was God[1].   After creating the first word, God set about finding it a home in the first sentence.  Then, after spending a few eternities debating on whether or not he should also create the ‘full stop’ (just in case he felt the need to continue and create the first paragraph), the Almighty decided to display His achievement with an inaugural address.

 

“Let there be light.” 

 

When the flashy display[2] died down, it became apparent that omniscience tended to ruin the surprise of some events.  At premieres such as these, it was even a bit of a downer.

 

“Bugger.”[3]

God quickly came to the conclusion that his achievement would be a tad more memorable if a less-than-all-knowing audience was around to witness it.  More memorable, and a great deal more gratifying.  And should any of these ‘others’ want to pat Him on the back a little, who was he to stop them? 

 

Seeing the task that lay ahead and being infinite in wisdom, God decided to do what all great leaders[4] following after Him would do.

 

He delegated.

 

And thus the first angel was born.

 

*****

 

Crociel was an angel fond of wandering.  It was, after all, what he was made for. 

 

Shortly after the Beginning, God appointed each angel his duty.  As Crociel was towards the end of the line, several of the more industrious angels before him had already delved into their task at hand.  When his turn arrived, God was about to appoint Crociel his task when a joyous shout of “I did it!” quickly followed by a not so joyous “Oh dear” caught his Father’s attention.  Heaven had managed to develop fire, and subsequently a fuel that went by the name Chalkatoura.

 

“Bugger.”[5] God muttered under his breath and turned back to Crociel. 

 

“Why don’t you just wander over there for a bit while I clear this up? Now there’s a good lad.”  He said, absently waving towards the north of the city while he attended to the flaming angel.

 

And from then on, Crociel did as he was told, exploring routes and places that had been quickly etched into his memory.  The thrill of discovery quickly faded and, more often than not, the only new occurrences he found were those he helped to create[6].  He was always greeted with the same sights, his routine varying only in accordance to what day it was.  Right at the fountain in the mornings, left at the building with a balcony on the second floor on every alternate afternoon.  It was part of the ineffable Plan.  To _Change_ would be going against the Plan, against... 

 

Occasionally he’d pass Nilaihah, and listen to the multiple attempts at establishing poetry.  Sadly, as much had yet to be created, most of his work revolved around other angels[7] or the limited surroundings and decor such as “bottles” and “walls” and what should happen if said bottles were to accidentally fall.

Some days, he’d wander towards the streets that would lead down to the south eastern gardens and pause to contemplate trying a new detour.  Other times he’d stall at the gates of the City and imagine what was on the outside.  Not that he was ungrateful for his designation or bored, perish the thought, but it was just...

 

Sometimes...

 

He’d never wait for too long though.  He was an angel of wandering.  It was, after all, what he was made for.

 

*****

 

It was during one of his sojourns that Crociel overheard plans, grand plans, in the making.  The start of life.  The angels were a buzz, discussing things such as vision and skin and bills[8].  As these ideas began to take shape, Crociel began to have some of his own.  These new creatures would require movement to wander.  He could help with that.  He nodded as he passed Nilaihah, excited by the prospects that lay in the waiting.

 

*****

 

_Lost in thought,_

_He didn’t register_

_That at the fountain,_

 

_He turned left._

 

*****

 

After a few test runs and some attachments here and there, it was good to go. 

 

The invention of the leg had been so popular, they were now standard issue for angels as well as quite a few ‘lesser’ beings.  Though some angels had taken offence to the addition of buttocks, the revolutionary appendage was still seen as a cause for celebration - so much so that the first tavern[9] was created.  It wasn’t too often that God’s wisdom was divined through one of His vessels, and even though that in itself was a reward, management thought it would help morale if everyone had something or some place to work towards[10].

 

Crociel was seated at the bar when a blond figure sat down next to him.  His name was on the tip of Crociel’s tongue when the conversation started.

 

“You’re him aren’t you,” his companion began, “The wanderer turned inventor.”

 

“Crociel, Leg maker extraordinaire.” Crociel supplied.  “Although, I guess ‘The angel that voiced His will for leg making’ would be more apt.” Crociel deflated a little after reciting the fairly common attitude.

 

“Crociel? You need a new name.”

 

“You don’t like my name?”

 

“Honestly, no, not really.”  Crociel was slightly affronted.

 

“Well God gave it to me so who cares what you think.”  The angel could tell that he hit a nerve.  Luckily, due to his knack for finding peculiarities of the troublesome kind[11], he was well adept at applying the necessary solution – backtracking[12]. “S’not that I don’t want a nick-name,” he said, trying to appease his new drinking buddy, “It’s just, I don’t see why we need the change.” 

 

The demeanour of his fellow angel changed from quiet anger to a sad resignation.

 

“Funny thing is,” he said as he rose from his seat, “I could have sworn you were the kind that did.” 

 

It was the first time  _disappointment_  had been heard in heaven.

 

~~Damn it~~.

 

“Wait,” Crociel grabbed his compatriot’s arm, “What did you have in mind?”

 

“Crawly. The other thing is just too... dull.” After repeating it a few times, the angel formerly known as Crociel accepted the unofficial baptism, and ordered a round of drinks for everyone[13].

 

*****

 

After a few more rounds filled with laughter and jovial gestures, one Angel bid the other a good night as “...well, the day really won’t start until I do.” Before exiting, Crawly’s new friend turned back to him.

 

“Don’t sell yourself short.  You should be proud of what  _you’ve_  done.”

 

The leg-maker beamed.

 

Crawly, for the life of him, couldn’t remember why he didn’t hang around this Lucifer chap more often.

 

*****

 

It was steady work, modifying the leg here and there as per required.  In between jobs, he’d kept up his wandering, only now occasional detours were made- to keep up to date with the others of course.  It wouldn’t do well for a creature to have Crawly give it some hips if it would only ever swim[14]. 

 

He was in a workshop when he heard it.  Rumours of a new type of life.  Something a little bit more like them.

 

Among the ideas and suggestions, he heard faint whispers.   _How_ ’s and _Why_ ’s that weren’t asking about designs but _intent_.  Questioning authority.  The shadows of doubt.  That line of thinking would doubt His ineffable authority. 

 

It would bring _Change_. 

 

He decided he needed a walk to clear his mind.  He wasn’t sure if it was because of the content or the fact he didn’t disagree with it entirely.

 

*****

 

Across the way, he saw Chalkatoura trying to run away from the tails of the robe he was currently wearing (needless to say, this wasn’t working) that he had managed to set alight once again.  Behind him, eight other angels were in pursuit trying to advise him on what to do next[15].

 

Crawly was happy to see  _his_  work put to good use.

 

He couldn’t help but think back on all the whispers he’d heard earlier.  Change was on the forefront.  The kind with a capital C.  Maybe... no.  He shouldn’t go down that path.  If it was part of the Plan, there wasn’t anything to  ~~fear~~  worry about.

Right?

 

Despite his best efforts, Crawly kept wondering. 

 

It was, after all, what he was made for.

 

*****

 

_Insurrection bleeds_

_through the streets._

 

*****

 

He was around the construction site near the amphitheatre when it happened.  Crawly saw another angel with Chalkatoura, both looking slightly apprehensive.  He waved and the blond –what was his name again?  Azza...something- raised his arm to return the gesture but paused mid way, eyes going wide.

 

Crawly turned and saw a small group of angels walking up the road towards them.  What they were planning to do with all those weapons they were carrying was beyond him, but it certainly-

 

“Oh dear.”  He heard from behind him.

 

Crawly turned to see Chalkatoura running in his direction, waving his arms in an attempt to shake the fire off his robes.  The angel’s preoccupation with his predicament meant that he couldn’t see the large pylon in his path[16] and promptly plowed into it.  Crawly would have laughed if the structures it supported hadn’t chosen that moment to fall on top of himself and the oncoming crowd. 

 

Vision swimming, he could feel himself drift slowly away as a blondish blur came into view.

 

“Oh dear.”

 

*****

 

Crawly came to and felt something solid and... rough?  Opening his eyes he found himself on some kind of terrain.  It remained on his clothes and palms and face and was coarse and brown and gritty and...

 

New.

 

“Crociel?” The angel rose and turned around. 

 

“Crociel, is that?  Yes it is you. Why there’s been some mistake. They must have picked you up and tossed you out with the rest of them, poor thing.”  Tossed out?

 

Crawly looked around.

 

He was outside the City.

 

Another angel approached.  “Hey, shift’s over. We’re going to be late and miss the ceremony.  I hear they’re giving Aziraphale a sword for that mob he worked over.  Lights up and everything. Personally I think it has less to do with that coliseum job, and more to do with trying to stop him from igniting bystanders every time he starts a... what’s he doing?”  The guard turned to see Crawly still standing outside.

 

“Crociel, can you please come in?  I don’t want to be late.”

 

“Hmm?  Oh, yes. I’ll be right in,” Crawly waved at them, “You two go on ahead.”

 

“Do remember to close the doors.”  The guard said as he and his companion walked off.

 

Crawly looked back at the landscape, foreign and unknown.  The wide, endless space was suffocating.  He couldn’t really see what was beyond the mountain range (Mountains!) or even past a nearby grove.

 

It was perfect.

 

He walked back to the gates and shut himself out of the city. 

 

He would wander.  It was after all, what he was made for.

 

_Now there’s a good lad_.

 

And then it went silent.

 

*****

 

***Addendum**

 

After the ceremony, Aziraphale took his station at the gate and found someone standing on the outside.  He was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

 

It must be one of the Others, he thought to himself.

 

“No point in trying to apologise now I’m afraid.”

 

The Outcast shook himself out of his reverie.

 

“Right. Well I best go and...” the intruder gestured, for lack of a better word, towards the open terrain. “There goes a steady job in the leg industry.”  He muttered to himself. 

 

The guard’s resolve almost crumbled.  No more legs?  That must have been his designation.  Whatever was he meant to do with himself now?  The poor fellow.

 

As he watched he-who-was-once-his-comrade depart, another guard approached.

 

“Another one of them Others?” The obvious disdain that tainted he-who-is-still-his-comrade’s voice helped make up his mind to put in a transfer request.  There was that spot opening up at the Garden that seemed particularly fetching.

 

“So disgraceful falling like that.” Said the other angel. 

 

Aziraphale looked at the figure’s casual gait and noted that it wasn’t quite as mournful as some of the Others.

 

“One wouldn’t call it falling so much as...”  He repeated the ambiguous gesture he had seen but moments ago.

 

 “... Vaguely sauntering.”

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Or so we’re told. Seeing as how no one else from around then is still around now, it’s a hard point to argue.
> 
> [2] A last minute decision to liven the proceedings up a little, God thinking it best to make a good first impression and start things off with a bit of a bang.
> 
> [3] God’s linguistic skills were clearly on a roll.
> 
> [4] Great leaders, and middle management.
> 
> [5] The angel responsible for “Word-a-day” calendars was five places behind Crociel.
> 
> [6] Though, there were only so many times one could appear innocent when misadventure tended to occur frequently in one’s presence.
> 
> [7] Most of whom could not see the humour behind “There once was an angel from Nantucket”.
> 
> [8] It is a little known fact that ducks were the prototypes that all other life would be based on, and compared to for quite some time. This was due to the unfortunate oversight that, apart from each other, this was the only other reference for life God had instilled in the angels due to momentary distraction caused by accidental arson. This brought about many failed attempts at diversity and gave rise to the adage “If it walks like a duck...” It wasn’t until the advent of the penguin that a new standard was set.
> 
> [9] Unfortunately (or fortunately for some), the angel responsible for the creation of alcohol had yet to make good on his part. If it weren’t for the fact that his constantly affectionate, though slightly slurred manner appeared to be infectious, his colleagues might have held it against him.
> 
> [10] Said motivational technique somehow leaked out of the celestial office and, well... 
> 
> [11] Which thanks to his latest invention, now included inserting one’s foot into one’s mouth.
> 
> [12] Another convenience brought about thanks to his efforts (second only to Kissing Arse which, while he may accept some credit for its name, was actually a trait inherent in all existence).
> 
> [13] An action that didn’t receive too much adulation, given that Heaven had an open bar policy.
> 
> [14] Not that he’s speaking from experience or anything.
> 
> [15] At this point in time, the angel responsible for “Stop, Drop and Roll” had yet to conceive the “Roll” and as such, had become the accidental co-creator of bonfires and barbecues.
> 
> [16] After the whole ordeal, when it came time for various authorities to create a damage estimate, he’d attest that the pylon wasn’t there last time he looked –he only took his eyes off the road for a second- and it just jumped out in front of him, “Honestly officer.”


End file.
